


Endurance

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson does his best to keep up with Holmes. It takes a toll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endurance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Completely pointless fluffy crack written for the wonderful **autumnatmidnite**.

I have often remarked upon the remarkable physical stamina and recuperative powers of Sherlock Holmes in my writings. Time and again, I witnessed Holmes exhibit almost inhuman endurance in the pursuit of a case. He often paid a price for it afterwards, and even sometimes during a long case, but even so, it was far less a matter to him than it would have been for any other man.  
  
Unfortunately, try as I might, I am not the man he is. I require more regular intervals of food and sleep. I prefer occasional intervals of relaxation interspersed between calls to action. But as both a soldier and a physician, I learned long ago to place my bodily needs and personal preferences secondary to my duty. When assisting Holmes, I considered it just as important to keep up with his marches as I did when serving with a regiment or tending the needs of an urgent patient. Indeed, my honour as a gentleman demanded it, even if my heart and loyalty had not already been entirely given over to the man.  
  
Holmes had been tremendously busy since his return in 1894, and I had been constantly at his side for practically every case. He did not make the same demands of me that he did of himself, but the pace of investigations was grueling, and physical well-being was always a secondary matter to his mind than the problem at hand.  By the spring of 1896, I was aware that I, at least, was showing signs of strain. A cold caught when assisting Holmes in the Adventure of the Shoreditch Singer in January lingered on well into February, and even after I’d shaken off the last of the congestion, I remained fatigued, easily tired physically and duller-witted than normal mentally. That aggravated Holmes, of course; never patient with the lesser intelligence of others, he found my lackluster attempts to anticipate his wishes and obey his directives particularly irritating. He expected better of me, as I did of myself. Still, I did my best to keep up with him as he solved problems for Scotland Yard, private citizens, and various government officials, all the while hoping that spring might bring a brief lull in cases. If not, I firmly resolved that I would take a fortnight’s holiday in June, and I’d do my level best to coax Holmes into coming with me.  
  
The daffodils arrived in March, but if anything, the rate of cases only increased with the blooms. April brought showers and a series of singularly daring high-profile thefts that nearly resulted in a governmental crisis, as well as an exhausting investigation where Lestrade personally asked for Holmes’ assistance. Early May saw sunny skies and a client come all the way from Derbyshire with a most interesting story. I saw Holmes’ face light up with enthusiasm, and mentally resigned myself to packing yet another bag and catching the earliest train.  
  
Our latest client left, grateful for Holmes’ interest and glad enough for an excuse to remain in London for a few days. “Be sure to pack your revolver, Watson,” Holmes advised me as he hurried off to his own room to throw a few clean collars and other necessities into his own travel-case.  
  
I heaved myself out of my chair. My stomach growled; we’d missed luncheon, and I’d been more interested in the coffee than the new cook-maid’s overdone eggs and soggy toast at breakfast. I wondered dully if we’d be able to grab sandwiches at the station, or whether we’d be hoping for a dining car on the train.  
  
I heard a faint ringing in my ears as I started up the stairs, and my legs felt like lead. I blinked tiredly and kept climbing. Chances were excellent that Holmes would want to discuss the initial details with me on the train, but he’d also want time to think on his own. Perhaps I could catch a nap then…  
  
Somehow, between one step and the next, my foot must have slipped. I have a vague memory of a moment of alarm, of reaching for the handrail…and then nothing.  
  
When I became aware of myself again, I found myself in a dimly-lit room, with soft pillows beneath my head and blankets tucked firmly around my body. My head throbbed with pain, but even so, I recognized my surroundings: Holmes’ room, and there, in a chair beside the bed, was Holmes himself, looking at me with obvious relief and not a little concern.  
  
“There you are, my dear fellow,” he murmured in soft tones, soothing to my rattled senses. “Can you understand me?”  
  
“Yes,” I answered. My voice came out in a surprisingly harsh rasp, and my throat felt like sandpaper. Holmes hastily reached out and brought a glass of water to my lips. A few sips, and I felt immeasurably better. “Thank you. What happened?”  
  
“You took a most unfortunate tumble down the stairs. I heard the crash and found you on the landing bleeding from quite an alarming gash on your temple. Evidence suggests you cut your head on the railing during your fall.” Although Holmes delivered these words quite calmly, I noticed that he had taken my hand after returning the glass to the side-table, and continued to hold it quite tightly with no sign he intended to let go anytime soon. “Anstruther had to put five stitches in you to close the wound. Mrs Hudson was quite dismayed by all the blood on her carpet.”  
  
Something in his expression told me that Mrs Hudson hadn’t been the only one dismayed. I moved my fingers against his own. More memory returned, and I frowned. “How long have I been unconscious? Have we missed our train?”  
  
Holmes snorted. “We’re not catching a train.”  
  
I blinked, confused. “But what about your client? Oh, I see, you mean _I’m_ not catching a train anytime soon. What time do you leave?”  
  
“I don’t. I’m not.” Holmes shook his head. “Upon reflection, I decided not to take the case after all. Rather a tedious affair, actually; I’m certain the wife’s brother is behind the trouble. I told our client as much when I directed him to a more appropriate investigator.” He gave me a small, thin-lipped smile, a genuine one. “Besides which, I have a much more urgent matter to attend to once you’re well enough to be up and about again.”  
  
“Another case?” I attempted to sit up and look attentive. My head swam, and Holmes hastily restrained me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.  
  
“Not so fast, Watson. You need rest.” His hands carefully guided me back down, and one remained resting over my heart. “Anstruther told me as much and more besides when he spoke to me after tending you. He was particularly verbose on the subject of how run-down you’ve become.” He cleared his throat. “He was also quite eloquent about the mystery of how the most inquiring mind in London had failed to investigate the problem, or pursue the obvious solution.”  
  
I bit my lip. “I’m sorry, Holmes. I feel utterly ashamed of my weakness. I’ll be right as rain soon enough, and I won’t slow you down in the meantime. You can - ”  
  
Holmes stopped me with a finger to my lips. “Hush, you’re speaking nonsense. You are the strongest man I know. And I cannot do without you, particularly not on this next investigation.”  
  
So many thoughts and emotions rose within my chest at his words, I could hardly find breath to speak, or the energy to speak any words despite his restraining finger. “Thank you,” I whispered. “But what _is_ this case?”  
  
A merry little grin lit his features. “Anstruther called it ‘a vacation.’ I’m quite unfamiliar with the term, but he suggested that you might help me solve this particular mystery. I thought we might start in France. Have you ever been to the Riviera?”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted November 17, 2013


End file.
